I am
by DeannaReadX
Summary: After bringing her home from where she's been sold to a sex trafficking ring, Draco and Hermione are back in charge of finding a serial killer that's intent on writing threatening messages at his scenes. Protecting themselves, whilst simultaneously trying to prevent anyone else from getting hurt, is not an easy ride, and of course, they accidentally fall in love. Oops.


So, finally, 'Why do I put up with you?' is back up and heavily edited. Reading back over it was excruciating, as it always is going over old writing. But I felt I had a good plot here, so I didn't want to just delete it, especially with the following it had before. And here we go, under the new title, 'I am'.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think.

Dee xx

* * *

"Thomson," Draco spoke curtly, giving the man escorting him through the door a brief nod of acknowledgement, tucking a silver lighter into the pocket of his black blazer. Thomson simply nodded back and followed him in.

Draco slipped into the glass booth and gestured for the waiter to get him a Martini as he sat down nonchalantly, shifting to get comfortable in the plush leather chair. His pale, ice blue eyes betrayed his cool exterior; they were hardened and fixed on a spot that lay on the floor in the circular showroom outside his booth.

Around the centre of the circle, there was another rounded series of compartments; cubicled glass booths, each of them occupying rich and rather ugly old men with hungry, impatient eyes. For a moment, Draco entertained the idea of muttering a corpeal choking jinx from where he was sat, and watching those looks of revolting appetency transform into fear, the already bloodshot eyes popping from their fat little heads as they learned a hard, slow lesson; overindulgence and perversion would be the painful, deserving end for them all. He should know.

"Malfoy, kindly remind me of why Potter sent you? You stick out like a sore thumb. Why on earth would someone as young and rich as you, want to buy a prostitute?" he asked quietly, his voice completely void of expression and emotion in case they were being watched. Draco smirked slightly, not averting his line of vision in the slightest.

"He sent me out here to get her back because I am the best actor in office. You are an abysmal soubrette and better suited to babysitting me. _I_ , on the other hand, have yet to fail an undercover operations assessment. And I am emotionally indifferent to her, so my judgement isn't clouded by a thirst for revenge," Draco answered. The young waiter boy placed a tray down on the small table, pouring from a bottle of Vermouth into a tumbler, and scurrying out of the room.

Draco took a swig from the glass, sitting back further in his chair, his eyes sweeping the profiles available to him, cataloguing visible weakness in the event of combat. Then he surveyed the room for weapons or recording devises, or any other potential threat. Thomson leant against the back of the small booth, upholding his handsome and expressionless posture as he stretched his legs out and settled for delving his hands deep within his tailored grey slacks.

"Malfoy, it's starting," Thomson observed, watching the room sit forward abruptly, readying themselves. Draco drew in a sharp breath, his full attention now focused on what was going on. Music clicked on and played quietly as a door on the other side of the room flicked open and a body was thrown forcefully out onto centre stage.

Thomson's face took on a rare expression of alarm and Draco's knuckles had gone white as he gripped the chair, struggling inwardly to keep his feelings below the surface; no one, not even Hermione Granger, should be put through something like this.

She was still in the position she'd fallen in and was making no effort to move on what looked to be a severely dislocated knee cap. She was almost skeletal, the thin piece of red lace they'd put on her hung off of her weak, broken body. Her horde of dark afro curls was much longer than when he'd last seen her, and looked dry and damaged, split ends illuminated by the harsh spotlight bearing down on her. She had red dots going all the way up the bottom half of her arm and bruises stood out shockingly against her pallid brown skin. Her eyes were darkened and droopy but something in them burned brighter than exhaustion; pure, raw anger.

"Subject is twenty two years of age, mixed race, fits a double C cup, and is reasonably compliant when correctly motivated"

Thomson heard Draco swallow his own anger quietly as the music stopped and the bidding began.

"Account number seven at 3000 Euros, and nine at 4000. Number five at 4250. Number 10 at 5030 Euros. Number seven at 5500"

"Account nine at... 10,000 Euros"

"Malfoy, don't be reckless"

"No further bids on 10,000 Euros? Oh, account eight, bids... 20,000 Euros"

"Draco, please be careful," Thomson hissed as number eight bid even higher.

"Number nine at – _wow_ , 70,000 Euros!"

" _Malfoy_ ," Thomson hissed again.

"My orders were to get her out of here, and that's exactly what I'm doing"

Draco let out a solemn breath of relief that he didn't know he'd been holding when eight backed out of the bidding war and swore from across the room.

"She goes to account number nine. Congratulations, Sir, we hope you are fully satisfied with your purchase," the voice said through the megaphone. Draco immediately stood up and turned to leave. Thomson took Draco's arm, manoeuvring him out of the room and up the corridor to meet the director.

"She's in there," the director indicated to the door he was stood in front of, his cheerful Italian accent the perfect façade for his line of work.

"I'll have your money transferred before midnight," Draco informed impatiently and pushed past the manager, closing the door behind him when Thomson had followed him through. A silencing charm was put up.

She was slumped on a wooden chair in the middle of the crummy dark room, and he breathed in deeply again, running one hand through his hair before crouching in front of her, checking her over, searching her for injuries and physical status.

"Fuck," he sighed, her face lulling in between his hands, a sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead. The red needle marks on her arms were not reassuring, and she was quite clearly nursing several broken bones. He pushed her hair out of her face and tried to make eye contact with her.

"Granger, can you hear me?" he asked softly, shaking her a little. She stirred, but was still too out of it to say anything. He sighed, grunting as he lifted her arms and ducked under her abdomen, gently lifting her over his shoulder, swallowing a fresh surfacing of rage at how limp she was against him. He made sure his silencing charm was still fully functional before he pointed his wand at the opposite wall and blasted a hole in it.

"For fuck sake, Malfoy, when we get back I'm issuing a complaint about your erratic behaviour. How the hell am I supposed to handle you when you're deliberately trying to get yourself killed?" Thomson ranted, stepping through the whole after him and repairing it before they automatically broke into a run along the concrete in the street to get to the harbour.

"Extravagant, even for you, Malfoy," he commented as they slowed again, eying the huge pristine yacht sitting grandly in the water in front of them. Draco simply snorted and adjusted Granger slightly as they stepped on board. He motioned to one of the workers to start the engine and rushed her down some steps, gently setting her down on the sofa so he could check her out properly.

He took a small vial out of from his pocket and slid his hand around the back of her neck to lift her head. She parted her chapped, full lips slightly and he tipped a few drops of the liquid down her throat. She breathed out a barely audible sigh, and he relaxed somewhat, kneeling in front of her to wait while the strengthening potion worked. Thomson sat himself down on one of the armchairs nearby and sunk backwards into the interior.

Two years had passed since the day the war had ended, and a lot had changed. Draco had trained to become an Auror as part of his court ordered community service, and after six months of teaching and theory, he'd been partnered with Granger in the auror department as part of the international law enforcement division. Needless to say, he wasn't happy about it. She was quite possibly the most irritating, studious, loud mouthed little shit he'd ever had the displeasure of working with. For the first few weeks of setting up their office and working their first case, they had done little else but argue and shout at each other.

Eventually, they had both decided that enough was enough, and begrudgingly agreed to call a truce.

It had been difficult and awkward and maddeningly frustrating. He was so used to being able to freely insult Granger if she'd been annoying him; but once they'd stopped fighting, all he could do was bite his tongue and try his utmost to tolerate her infuriating attitude. It didn't help, of course, that he felt guilty every time he looked at her.

Six months of auror training, physical fitness tests, and psych evals, had done little to alter his mental state. He'd barely been approved for duty after being deemed 'mentally unfit for service', but Potter seemed to have a fresh, baffling faith in him. Perhaps he himself had been part of Potter's strange, senseless redemption and need to make himself a better person, but whatever, Draco wasn't complaining, if it got him a job and something to do with his time whilst building up his rep again, it didn't matter what the motivations behind it were.

'Survivors guilt', and 'post-traumatic stress disorder' had not been easy for him to battle whilst trying desperately not to hex Hermione Granger into oblivion as they had settled into their new way of life and working so closely alongside each other. It hadn't been a smooth path to say the least. But if anything, Draco was determined. His distraction had come after eight months of working with Granger. They'd been put on the case of some magical drug runners, tracking them, interrogating them, trying to cut off their imports and financial means.

It hadn't been very long into the case when Granger had gotten a lead and gone in without informing him first. That was when she'd been picked up by the sex traffickers and import smugglers. Draco had been one step behind the Egyptian gangsters doing the soliciting for weeks, until about a month before the auction. Draco had a phone call from the director of the gathering. He'd managed to secure a place in the bidding ceremony and had alerted Thomson to prepare two undercover identities. He'd travelled across seas immediately after getting Potter's say so.

Much to Draco's surprise however, everything had gone rather smoothly and now they had Granger back in safe ranks. The only dilemma now was figuring out how damaged she'd be when she woke up, how much she would remember of it all, how well she'd be able to adjust to work and home life again. It was all touch and go, and whilst he was relieved to have his partner alive and in front of him, it was irritating him that he had little ability to predict how much work they would need to do in the fallout of all of this bullshit.

He was ripped from his train of thought however, when the young witch stirred again and stretched out her limbs. He immediately stopped her carefully in case she did further damage to herself, and as suspected, she curled up in pain and yelped at the way her broken knee restricted her movements.

"Malfoy?" she whimpered weakly.

"Granger, can you hear me?" he asked.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her eyelids flickering, barely open and red rimmed.

"Don't move yet, okay?" he told her firmly, gesturing for Thomson to come and hold her hand whilst he tended to her injuries. He wrapped one hand around her ankle, and gripped her calf muscle with his other hand, closing his eyes for a moment, swallowing once, before pulling hard.

The sickening click of her knee cap caused him to have to swallow bile as it popped back into place and her body jerked violently, her back arching upwards, a cry of agony escaping her cracked lips. She whimpered and sobbed for a while, and he gently kept one comforting hand on her ankle whilst Thomson murmured soothing words into her ear. When she'd calmed down some more, Draco took out his wand and slowly began fixing her broken bones, muttering healing incantations as her fractures disappeared and all that remained was a whole load of bruises and some possible lingering nerve and tissue damage.

When he had finished, she still had silent tears streaming rapidly down her face, but her breathing was less irregular, and she had slightly more colour in her freckled cheeks.

"You want a shower?" Thomson asked after a while, and she suddenly jolted, her drooped eyes snapping fully open.

"Granger, stop moving!" Malfoy exclaimed, still knelt in front of her. Slowly, a small smile split across her mouth as she registered the identities of her companions with more lucidity.

"Thomson, I missed you"

She made an attempt to sit up, but she keeled over almost immediately, collapsing back into a sitting position.

"I told you not to move," Draco stated simply.

"Where are we?"

"We're in Egypt," he informed blandly, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of her.

"Shit," she whispered.

"Yes, quite"

There was a moment of further quiet, in which Granger blinked a few times, breathing still slightly laboured; clearly it was a struggle just to be upright. He frowned, sitting forward and pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.

"Merlin, Granger, you're burning up. Come on," he stood up, taking one of her arms and slowly, carefully lifting her to her feet, taking the majority of her weight. She winced and bit down on her lip hard when she went to put pressure on her knee, but after waiting a few seconds, she nodded at him once. He began to help her move across the room and up the stairs on the other side of the boat to the bathroom.

He set her down on the toilet seat and called for Thomson to get some food ready whilst he turned the shower on. He sighed and crouched in front of her slumped body, gently pulling the thin dress over her head, paying no heed to her nakedness, and helping her gently under the water.

When he could feel her body temperature returning to a safe state, he allowed her to sit on the floor with her legs tucked under her chin underneath the spray. He washed her hair quietly, dividing it into small sections and massaging the conditioner into the curls slowly, paying particular attention to the split ends, concentrating on getting all of the dirt out of it, getting so long that it now rested against the floor near the bottom of her bony spine. He fought the urge to throw up as his eyes subconsciously travelled the bruises. There were bumpy, angry scars all the way up her vertebrae, and sickening bite marks dotting her fragile neck.

When all the conditioner had been washed out, he reached up for the knob and turned off the water, helping her once more to her feet and wrapping a towel around her. He checked her temperature again, and sat her down on the bed reserved for her in the other room, checking her vitals, his expression concentrated and focused the entire time.

All the while, she said nothing, simply breathing and leaning on him and allowing him to support her. Everything looked alright really, apart from the slight wheezing in her chest and the way she still couldn't keep her eyes open properly.

He eventually went to the suitcase in the corner of the plush room, pulling out a loose fitting green turtle neck and black leggings along with some clean underwear. He assisted her in getting dressed, and noted that she slowly gained strength with every little movement, plaiting her hair for her and tying it out of her face. Then he helped her lay back against the pillows and left her to rest.

* * *

"Granger, if you don't eat that meal I will shove it down your neck," Draco snapped. He despised having to admit it to himself, but he had genuinely missed her. He had missed arguing with her and getting her so angry that her long throng of curls frizzled out and her cheeks went a dangerous colour of red. She was usually so strong and hot headed; watching her sit and stare idly at the spaghetti bolognese on her plate was sort of depressing.

She looked so small, dressed in his hoodie now, the fabric swamping her. She'd French platted her hair into submission and tied it near the bottom of her spine, having thrown on a simple pair of jeans she'd found in a wardrobe. Her injuries were more obvious now, as the angry red gash just underneath her eye had been too deep for him to heel immediately. Her broken bones had been fixed but one of her ribs had been shattered quite badly and, despite being able to heal it, it was still causing her a little discomfort, and she was still limping on her knee.

She had not said anything about the drugs, as the potion Draco had given her earlier contained an ingredient of Snape's design to counteract them. He could tell she was going to be tired for a little while as well, but in general, everyone was these days.

"I hope you weren't too mean to Thomson," she said, letting go of her pride and beginning to roll the spaghetti around her fork. Draco simply scoffed and looked annoyed.

"That man is almost as insufferable as you are, Granger. You and I manage fine, don't we?" he answered, his attitude earning him a familiar look of disapproval.

"Malfoy," she sighed exasperatedly. He blessed her with the trademark smirk and watched in satisfaction as she grumpily shoved the piece of pastry and meat into her mouth.

"He calls himself my 'handler', like I'm a child," he replied. She rolled her eyes at him and smiled warmly, tilting her head to the side momentarily.

"I missed you," she said, as though the concept of Hermione Granger missing Draco Malfoy was totally normal. She looked back down at her dinner, taking another mouthful of the spaghetti, swigging at the coalesce of pumpkin juice and strengthening potion he'd made for her.

"Don't start your Gryffindor crap, Granger," he muttered, leaning against the worktop of the pristine boat and messing up his blonde hair subconsciously. It was her turn to frown.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Two days ago," he shrugged, knowing she would be able to tell if he was lying anyway. The first rule of working with Granger was to understand that she was just as clever as he was. There was no point in underestimating her; Draco preferred his bollocks attached to his body thank you very much. Second rule was to know her as well as she knew him. He was never to mollycoddle her; she absolutely loathed sympathy and being made a fuss out of. He had never had to learn this the hard way of course.

But now they were partners, and he understood her better and he knew how to deal with her when she was upset.

"Granger, shut up, I will sleep when I need to, alright?" he snapped, trudging over to the table she was sitting at and throwing himself down on the chair.

"But, Malf-"

"Granger, be quiet for a second," he said in a softer voice, looking her straight in the eyes "I need you to make a statement"

"Yes, alright. What do you want to know?" she asked, already knowing the procedure, as they had interrogated and interview suspects and victims together a number of times.

"Obviously I need to start with what happened when you went into this alone"

"I think you're going to need a drink"

He got them through it as fast as he could and she cried a couple of times; but he had anticipated such a reaction. Despite being strong and resilient, she still had a certain sensitivity about her. He supposed without it, she would be as cold as him.

Everything was finally beginning to feel as exhausting as it should have been. His clothes were itching his skin – he'd taken his blazer off, and the tie he'd been wearing was discarded somewhere in the living room of the yacht. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his hair was a mess, falling about his face and eyes so he had to keep running his fingers through it or flicking it away from his stressed complexion.

"I'm out of my depth here, Granger. How am I supposed to fix you this time?"

"Trust me," she told him resolutely, wiping the tears from her eyes and wetting her lips, smiling at him sadly "and trust that I can do this in my own time"

"I was being serious earlier, you know. Never do that to me again"

She stared at him for a few moments, before he broke the eye contact and stood up, running another hand through his mussed hair as he left the room.

* * *

"Miss Granger, kindly sit still," Snape's voice was irritated, but not vicious as she pursed her lips together guiltily and shuffled back a little bit on the hospital bed, finally keeping still as he gestured for her to open her eyes wide. He shined the illuminated tip of his wand at them, searching for any abnormalities.

Then he moved the sleeve of her hospital gown up past her forearm, and tapped slightly on the vein before swiping an anti-septic wipe over it, and sliding a needle beneath the skin, concentrating hard as he drew blood from it slowly, the red liquid gradually filling the syringe. The entire time, his hand rested on the back of her elbow, keeping it in place, the spindly fingers surprisingly warm and soft against her skin. She swallowed a little when she began to feel a little lightheaded and her throat went dry.

"I feel dizzy," she told him, a frown creasing her brow. He glanced up at her from where he'd been watching his hands and the needle closely, nodding.

"Dizziness and fatigue is common in patients who have been kept in captivity for longer than six months. We can take you off the IV in a few hours and then you can start eating solid food again. We'll keep you until we get your results back, but I'm rather sure you'll be able to go home before Friday," he said, taking his plastic gloves off, cleaning up the wipes and various other medical objects he'd used for her latest check-up.

"Do you think I have any STDs?"

"We can't say until we hear back from the lab, but it's highly unlikely, Miss Granger. Magical folk have a rather inept ability to fight off infection. When I spoke to the head healer, he was more concerned about your mental recovery rather than your physiology. Have you spoken to Potter about signing on with a psychiatrist?"

"No. No. I – I don't respond well to therapy, it's never worked for me. And please stop pretending that you are even the slightest bit concerned for my well-being. You're doing nothing more than what your job requires you to do," she was fed up of sitting there feeling like a schoolgirl in the Hogwarts medical wing.

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, my job _requires_ me to care about the wellbeing of my patients, regardless of who they are. Potter said he was going to be back tonight, and I think it wise that you have something to tell him about how you're going to deal with the aftermath of your ordeal. The insufferable man will no doubt be insisting that you get some form of professional help. Your condition is stable for now, but if you experience anything out of the ordinary regarding your physical state, don't hesitate to let one of the nurses know," he said simply in a regal, emotionless voice, nodding at her once before leaving down the aisle in the middle of the beds and disappearing through the double doors.

She huffed, sitting back against her pillows and looking forlornly at the firmly wrapped white bandages around her left arm and the sore looking gash on her knuckles that Snape had been hesitant to heal magically in case of infection. She really fucking hated hospitals.

And something told her she wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

* * *

"Thomson, you're driving me up the wall. Will you put the fucking pen down and go get some lunch?" Draco blasted, slamming his quill down on his desk and glaring at his temporary work partner. They'd been back for three weeks now, and Draco was still being forced to work with Thomson. The idiot meant well, but he was bloody infuriating.

He never in a million years thought he'd be desperate to have Granger back in the office. At least when he was working with her, they got things done; they figured things out and were generally able to get through it fast and fuss-free. When Thomson was involved, Draco had to do all the legwork.

He knew Granger had a brilliant mind and he was well aware that he had a very observant mind himself, and they had put more people in prison in their two years as partners than Mad-Eye-Moody had in his entire life time. They solved their cases fast and efficiently. But this was the longest they'd ever been on anything, and now attacks on random wizards; large shipments of drugs, and murders on a lot of muggle borns across the globe, were becoming more frequent.

For a while, Malfoy had been pulled off the case to chase after Granger, but now he was back on it, there was nothing he could piece together properly, nothing that would hold his concentration span because there was no _fire_ in what he was doing. No drive or momentary distraction. Just pure and utter silence. All he did was shuffle through notes and write down the things that caught his eye with no real belief that any of it would help.

They did not know the leader of any organisation or any of the people involved. They had no idea what they were up against or who would be the next target.

It was a daunting prospect and it was driving Draco mad.

"Thomson, Malfoy," a familiar female voice sounded from the doorway and his head snapped up. He cursed as he nearly spilt his tea over him.

She really had grown taller since her capture, he noted, or perhaps it was the weight she was slowly regaining. Her face was soft but her cheekbones were still slightly too defined and her arms didn't look particularly durable. There were daunting dark shadows beneath her eyes, and she walked with a slight limp, obviously still healing. She was leant against the doorframe nonchalantly, a bored expression on her face. She was wearing a white blouse tucked into a high wasted black pencil skirt that stopped just at the bottom of her thighs. On her feet were a rather stunning pair of Louis Vuitton's.

"Granger, what are you doing here? You aren't supposed to be back until next Monday"

"Well, you look as though you're about to kill Thomson, and you have no leads. And – jesus christ, you're drinking the PJ Tips," she raised her eyebrows as she pushed off of the frame and stepped forward, watching with a slightly amused glint in her eyes as he struggled to mop up the hot liquid on his desk.

"Thomson," she said softly, placing a soft hand to the older wizard's arm and pressing a peck of greeting to his cheek "go back to your own office and forget this case. I'm back now, you may as well go back to the easy life"

Thomson seemed to glow in her presence, looking at her with gratitude. He stood up, gathering his things into a box on his neat desk and walking past her in a hurry as though he could not wait to get out of the office.

"What are you stressing over then?" she asked, backing into her old desk and shimmying back on the wood so she was perched on it, staring at him, waiting for him to talk to her. Malfoy scowled.

"What do you think you're playing at, Granger?"

"I've already told you. I'm over it. Now can we please just get on with the case?"

"You know, if Potter finds you in here he's going to blow his top," he pointed out. She shrugged again, and he bristled, resigning himself to the fact that she'd developed yet another maddeningly irritating little trait in her absence.

"Stop telling me off and talk to me about these Egyptian Gangsters," she inquired. He rolled his eyes with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, puffing out air through his lips and wetting them with the tip of his tongue.

"It was a false trail. They're typical muggle-esque criminals; prostitution, drug running, petty theft. It mostly stops there to be honest. We tailed everyone I came across while I was chasing your stupid arse, and not one of them came up positive for murder. I put them all in Azkaban. We followed the head of the organisation for the whole time I was trying to get to you. We thought it was Nada Abuakar, but he was a bit of an amateur. Thomson and I have been catching up since we got back to London; the attacks and murders have branched out. The latest being in Cannock, Staffordshire. I tracked down the muggle they killed. She was actually a squib," he informed.

She frowned slightly, following his voice closely and processing every word, clearly coming to her own conclusions.

"COD?" she asked. Draco drew in a sharp breath and met her eyes, making her slightly uneasy.

"She was naked. She bled out but there was no sign of sexual assault. No bind marks, no signs of struggle at all. But – well, they carved letters across her stomach with a knife," he said, looking sick and a little uncomfortable with telling her all of this, as though it would set her off on some sort of psychotic break.

"What did they write?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Filth"

* * *

"Shit, Granger, you look awful," Draco commented as they met in their office in the morning. He was in the middle of unhooking the black Melton wool jacket he favoured. She could see why he liked the garment so much; it was Ben Sherman, funnel neck, branded detail at the left shoulder and a single vent at the rear, button down, personally tailored to him. Malfoy took his fashion very seriously. She found it hilarious how seriously sometimes.

"You would too, if you'd slept in a two star hotel with a bath covered in lime scale, and a bed that isn't even worthy of the name 'bed'," she grumbled, pulling her robes around her tighter and swallowing hard as though she had a horrible taste in her mouth. Malfoy's eyes widened for a second and then his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Why didn't you just go back to your flat? I mean, it isn't much better than the lime scaled bathtub, but it is a little bit of an improvement," he remarked, regarding her thin frame with a concerned glance. He slipped his coat on and fastened it up, lifting the collar around the back of it in defence against the impending November rain on the dreary winter streets of London. Apparently she'd ghosted out again though, because Malfoy had to click to fingers together in front of her eyes to get her attention again.

"Granger, I know I am abnormally good-looking, but would you please refrain from gawping at me; the look doesn't suit you when you're tired"

"Sorry, what were we talking about?"

"I believe you were about to tell me about the latest fight you and Weasley have had"

"He was drunk again, I'd just had enough. I'm not all there at the moment, but I'm not a bloody doormat. I would have said something stupid that I would have regretted if I had stayed, so I just packed a bag and left," she explained. He raised his eyebrows again for a split second but after a bit, he broke into a slow, graceful clap.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Malfoy, I just left my fiancé when he was in a bad place, and now you're clapping at me"

He rolled his eyes, leaning back against his desk momentarily.

"Granger, you've had worse nights, I'm sure. And I'm being deadly serious. You finally came to your senses after ten years, and I thought you deserved a round of applause, so don't be a bitch"

He pushed passed her, standing in the doorway impatiently as though he hadn't just totally insulted her. He gestured for her to move.

"C'mon then, Granger. If it means that much to you, I'll get us a five star hotel tonight; we're going to have to stay in Cannock for a couple of days anyway. Potter called me this morning. Longbottom is overseeing the forensic team but we've officially been put back in charge of the investigation. Now move your marvellous arse, I want to get going"

Instead of doing what he'd requested however, she defiantly clicked her fingers, wandlessly snapping the door shut as Draco became even more impatient with her.

"What the bloody hell do you want now, Granger?" he growled. She scowled at him.

"I want your advice on something. Don't be an asshole,"

"What, then?" he said, taking the leather gloves out of his pocket and pulling them on snugly.

"These last few weeks, I've been feeling like someone is watching me"

This got his attention and he leaned back against the doorframe, looking at her strangely.

"Are you sure?"

"I felt it last night just before I left the flat. I stood at the window in my bedroom and I couldn't see anything, but I felt it. Like someone was watching me really intensely from outside in the street," she explained carefully as he studied her carefully. This was the thing with Malfoy, she trusted him to look at her and she never felt under scrutiny.

"Granger what are you saying? Do you think you're being stalked or something?"

"My senses aren't as attuned as yours, but I think, for some weird reason, and this is totally on instinct, that it's linked to these attacks," she answered him in a quieter tone. But she knew he would listen, and that he would consider her opinion without totally dismissing it.

"Your instincts are sensitive at the moment, Granger, you're totally exposed to all your emotions, and you don't know what you're feeling from one moment to the next. But you're smart, as much as it kills me to admit it, and you're not one to dwell on childish whims. I'll see Potter about some protection for you after we come back from Cannock. Until then, it doesn't matter, because I'm not letting you wonder off without me. I'm not chasing you half way across the world again"

"I don't want protection, I want you to take me _seriously_. I'm sure about this, Malfoy; I genuinely think the person watching me is involved"

"So do I, Granger. I never said I wasn't taking you seriously, but I still think now you've actually used your infuriatingly brilliant brain and left your prick of a fiancé, you should have someone making sure you're okay," he said in a serious voice.

"Why don't I set up a permanent patronus to let you know that I'm alive at various points in the day? We'll be together most of the time anyway," she suggested. Malfoy raised his eyebrows yet again.

"Can you even do that, Granger? It sounds like some pretty complicated magic to me. And I'm not too keen on the idea of an otter waking me up every three hours during the night," he said. She rolled her eyes again.

"Don't pretend you get more than three hours sleep a night, Malfoy," she smirked, turning on her heel, obviously expecting him to follow her to the ministry's long distance apparating point. But she was stopped before she could even get there by a strong arm wrapping around the left side of her waist and pulling her around to walk the other way. He let go of her when was sure she wasn't going to turn back around and apparate to Cannock; not even a calming charm could get her happy enough to teleport without hurting herself at the moment.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she asked in a slightly whiny tone. He stopped for a second and looked at her, ignoring several colleagues rushing passed with sheets of paper flying out of their hands.

"You just can't apparate when you're in this state Granger, I'm driving us up there," he informed, a hand in the small of her back guiding her along again.

"But Malfoy it's a three hour drive"

"Not in my car it isn't"

"That's because your car is a death trap"

* * *

Ninety minutes later, they were streaming fast down the M5 in a black Nissan 2012 GTR chrome edition. Malfoy drove like a maniac, but since they'd settled on a straight ahead road, Hermione had been able to relax amongst the shiny and extremely comfortable, low leather seats. The scene was silent apart from the pitter patter of transparent drops of rain hitting the windshield and the roar of the motorway in the distance. The silences between them had long since seized to be awkward and now she enjoyed just sitting, watching the blur of other cars as they zoomed past. She let the slow sound of Malfoy's steady breathing soothe her own fast beating heart.

Everything she did reminded her of her awful night. Leaving Ron was one of the hardest decisions of her life. He was suffering as much as she was of late, both of them extremely mentally ill. But a small voice in the back of her head whispered the truth. She'd done the right thing, saved him from further pain. She hoped he wouldn't hate her. She wished with everything that she was that she could just fall in love with him again.

She remembered being in love with Ron. It had been new and fresh and had made her see everything in a brighter light. He had been the epitome of happiness and youth. It was just so sad that it had abandoned him.

"Did you want to stop at some point?" Malfoy asked, his voice quiet.

"No, thank you," she breathed. If there was one thing that was good about her life at the moment and she knew would stay good; it was Malfoy. They didn't really have a relationship outside of work and regulations, but he was solid and reliable and safe and he made sure that she wasn't too broken or upset. He wouldn't allow her to be weak but he would not be inconsiderate and he understood that she was just a human who made mistakes and tried to deal with them.

Hermione had never imagined that being an adult could be so hard. She had always thought that the war had forced her to have to grow up; she saw now that it was the understatement of the century. Being grown up was not about how many people she'd killed or accepting responsibility for other people's lives.

It was about making mistakes and only learning from them after she'd made them three or four times. It was pulling herself out of bed every morning for work no matter how truly shit she felt. It was moving house and making decisions that were scary and frightening but exiting at the same time. It was learning to find a balance between selfish and selfless and using her initiative. It was getting over childish traits and putting aside her own views to get something amazing out of everything she did. It was growing up and being a woman and it was painful and long winded and hard but it was her life and she loved it.

She closed her eyes with no intention of falling asleep, basking in the peaceful simplicity of where she was at that moment; driving at 180mph up the motorway with Draco Malfoy, ready to solve murders. How very clichéd.

"Morning," Neville smiled as Hermione went to hug him tightly.

"Its good to see you," she insisted, ruffling his hair. He squirmed, but grinned and rolled his eyes at her, going to mess her hair up too, causing her to dodge out of the way.

"We're going over to Great Wyrly to talk to the sister of the latest victim. Call us if anything comes up," Draco instructed, nodding at Neville, who saluted him.

"Dean is on his way up from a smaller case he's working in York. Harry had him transferred"

"Good, tell him I want his full opinion when he gets here-"

"Malfoy?" she asked, sounding concerned as he broke off, distracted by something, stepping instinctually closer to her. He shook his head a little and looked back at her.

"It's nothing, Granger. Longbottom, keep an eye out and make sure you have your wand on you, we'll be back in a couple of hours. Make sure your team are careful. Document everything. Granger, get in the car," he ordered briskly. She narrowed her eyes.

"You don't get to boss me about-"

"Shut the fuck up and get in the car, Granger," he snapped, getting a venomous glare from Neville.

Hermione however, could tell that he wasn't particularly annoyed with her. No. Something else was bothering him. She had a strong urge to find out what it was and she had a suspicion that he would tell her when they were safely in the car.

So, she glared at him once again, leaned forward to kiss Neville on the cheek and then turned away, stepping into the vehicle. Malfoy copied her in a fast, brusque walk and slammed the car door shut behind him; shoving the key in the ignition and starting the car up in a hurried but collected state. She waited until they were back on the main road and were driving around a roundabout by a carvery before turning to him.

"Malfoy, slow down," she requested, and he immediately slowed from 80mph, to 60.

"Whatever you felt last night, whoever's been watching us, has followed us up here," he said in a slightly bitter tone.

"Taking the car… you were trying to throw them off our trail! You _did_ take me seriously," she guessed slowly. He nodded curtly and stared ahead, slamming down the gear as he turned. She sat there for a few seconds in shock as she contemplated what was happening to them.

"I always take you seriously, you should know that by now. If I didn't, I have a feeling I'd be missing both my testicles," he said, his tone still irritated and she could tell he was a little on edge.

"I think we should speak to Sylvia and Mike before we get food. I want to get it over and done with"

He simply nodded and twisted the car to turn the corner and go up a road that looked dauntingly long. He had to drive all the way up and then turn back on himself because the victim's sister's house was on the other side of the road. They eventually parked up, and rattled by whoever was following them, Hermione reached behind her, curling her hand around the top of her wand where it rested in the back of her jeans, secured by her belt, visible only when her blue leather jacket shifted slightly. Malfoy knocked, and a tall woman in her mid-sixties answered with a very unhinged grin that only made Hermione more cautious.

"Good morning," the woman shrieked loudly and moved aside to let them through the door. The house was very warm and cosy. Very typical of a middle age couple. Thimble collections hung on the walls and there was a severe overindulgence of rugs.

"Sylvia Harris? I'm Hermione Granger and this is my work partner, Draco Malfoy. We have a few questions about your sister, Tilly"

"I've already told you people everything," she replied in her high pitched voice. Her short hair seemed to stand on end as she spoke.

"Well, we're the leading authorities on this investigation; unfortunately, we have recently been… abroad on a case in Egypt. We just thought we'd come to offer our condolences and to ask our own questions. You're a witch, I trust?" Hermione asked. Sylvia simply nodded again and gestured for them to sit down on the pale blue sofas of her living room.

"Your husband works at the local pub, am I right?" Hermione asked, making Sylvia frown.

"Yes, I tried to get him to quit but he won't. It gives him a beer belly, course, but he likes the socialising. Not right after he had cancer in his shitter last year, not healthy for him. But he never listens"

"Did he mention anything strange these last few days? Did he fall out with anyone while he was drunk?" Malfoy asked, looking very uncomfortable. Hermione knew he hated people like Sylvia; people who were too over the top.

"No, Duck, everything was normal. We all get along around here you see, and my husband hasn't touched his wand in three years. Says it tempts fate," she explained.

"Mrs Harris, do you think Tilly had any enemies or people that might want revenge on her?"

"I already answered that one the other day. No. Everyone loved her as much as I did. Aren't you supposed to be the best in the department? You should've studied my statement more carefully," Sylvia told them. Malfoy and Hermione looked at each other, concern etched in both their faces.

"Mrs Harris, do you think that the next door neighbour was friendly with your sister?" Hermione asked, keeping her flow of questions going as much as she could. They both inquired their own puzzles over the hours they spent talking to Sylvia, but neither could concentrate properly, both were waiting to get back to the car. When they finally collapsed into their seats, Malfoy was the first to vocalise what they had both picked up on after talking to their victim's relative.

"There was no mention in the statement of anyone asking about Tilly's enemies," he sighed "someone tampered with the statement"


End file.
